Still Jack
by Yeahsureyoubetcha
Summary: Missing scene from 'The Lost City Pt 2' . . .


**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Stargate Sg-1_ (something my imagination has yet to figure out) and I will receive no monetary gain from this endeavor.

**Author's Note:** I'd like to give a big shout out to my amazingly awesome unofficial Beta judybear326. Thank you so much for your help!

**Warning! May contain episode plot spoilers for the _Lost City_ Parts 1 & 2.**

Place: Cargo hold of the Tel'tak

Time frame: Shortly after O'Neill heals Bra'tac

Characters present: The Colonel and Dr. Jackson

Genre: Mainly Friendship based Drama/Hurt/Comfort but there is a smidgen of humor at the end . . .

* * *

Since healing Bra'tac, the Colonel had yet to move. He sat, kneeling on the floor, with head bowed and hands trembling. By his side, still gripping his arm, was Daniel.

In silence, the archaeologist stared at his friend. With an aching heart, he realized that they were losing him. Granted, having the knowledge of the Ancients take over O'Neill's mind had been the plan, the expected end, but seeing it happen was hard. Very hard.

Exhaling a short breath, Daniel dropped his gaze. Images of Jack being grabbed by the repository, struggling against its grasp and then collapsing to the ground, flashed through his mind. He heard himself cry out and felt the waves of shock, denial and guilt assault him yet again. As the memories raced, Daniel unconsciously tightened his hold on the Colonel's arm. This was all his fault. If only he had moved faster, reacted quicker, reached the device before Jack had interfered . . .

A slight tremor beneath his hand, halted the archaeologist mid-rumination. His best friend was dying and no amount of hopeful imagination was going to change that. Overcome by a sudden rush of helplessness and self-anger, Daniel shook his head.

"Why Jack?" he murmured, his voice low but intense. "Why did you stop me? We could have found someone else to translate, I know we could." Running a free hand over his face, Daniel sighed. "I know we could . . . You didn't have to do this."

For a time nothing but stillness answered these words. Then, in a soft but firm gesture, O'Neill tugged at his friend's sleeve. Their eyes met immediately and Jack tried his best to speak. His lips parted, closed and parted again, but to no avail. Whatever had remained of his English speaking abilities up to this point, were now apparently gone. Frustrated by this, but not willing to give up, he tugged a bit harder on his friend.

"What Jack? What is it?"

Words, however did not come. Instead, there rose only an insistent, almost desperate look to O'Neill's face. His dark eyes grew narrow and his brow creased heavily. Without a single sound, he was screaming for Daniel to hear him.

Recognizing this mute outcry, the archaeologist leaned forward. "I'm here, Jack . . . I'm listening."

Small though it may have seemed, this simple assurance brought relief to the Colonel. His head dropped almost imperceptibly and he allowed himself a slow intake of breath. Once this was complete, he returned his full attention to Daniel. Deep brown orbs locked onto expectant blue ones and, for a time, everything else was forgotten.

When at last the intensity of O'Neill's gaze subsided, he eased his hold on the archaeologist's sleeve and sat back. With great effort he then muttered three words, "Potium mea audeas?"

As Daniel's mind fell to translating these few syllables, his concentration deepened. After a brief hesitation, understanding seemed to dawn. "Potium mea audeas . . . Did you hear me?"

O'Neill offered the barest of nods, affirming that this interpretation was correct, and waited. Concern marked his face and once more there came a hint of desperation. To be honest, even he did not fully understand what he wanted his friend to know. All he could say for certain was that the force which had driven him to take action on that planet was unlike any he had ever felt before. Resolution to keep Daniel from the repository had almost consumed him. He could not put a name or reason on his actions and, as much as he disliked the idea, he had to admit the possibility that some sort of psychological something or other had been in play. Perhaps his archaeologist, the deep thinker, could comprehend what he could not.

Sensing how important this was to the Colonel, Daniel retreated inward and lowered his eyes. As he did so, the haunting question 'potium mea audeas' played over and over in his mind. Searching within himself, the archaeologist then considered all he had just seen in Jack's eyes . . .

Friendship. Brotherhood. Loyalty. Protection. Care. Un-equivocating stubbornness . . . In short, everything that made Jack Jack.

All of these typical "O'Neill" motivations had been apparent, readily discernible, but there had also been something else - something even more powerful.

As awareness of this final most potent element came, Daniel raised his head. Capturing the man before him with steady eyes he then began to speak, his tone filled with conviction.

"You had to watch me die once . . . you didn't want to do it again."

Stillness filled the cargo hold and the Colonel became lost in his own world - a world without Daniel Jackson. A world where his best friend was 'ascended' . . . where there were no ill-fitting eyeglasses, no cups of pungent coffee, no droning chatter about rocks on P3X-what-have-you, no wide eyed innocence . . . a world where Daniel was but an untouched memory. Untouched because to reflect on the good times would inevitably lead to remembering the painful end.

The grip on O'Neill's arm shifted suddenly and he seemed to hear a voice call his name. Thus drawn back to reality, he lifted his eyes.

"Jack - did I say something wrong?"

A corner of the Colonel's mouth pulled upward and he wagged his head. Placing a hand on the other man's shoulder, he held it reassuringly. "Haum."

"'No' - haum means 'no', right? So, so I was right - before, about what I said?"

With an amused look, Jack nodded. Yes, Daniel had been right. Very, very right.

There was a beat of hesitation as the archaeologist came to terms with what he had just learned. When he finally managed to speak again, his voice was but a whisper. "You still should have let me do it," he murmured. "It would have been okay . . . I promise." A flash of stubbornness resurfaced to answer this remark and Daniel smiled. "Okay, so it wouldn't have been alright with you, but . . . "

Jack gave an impatient gesture and swiped at his forehead. As anticipated, this motion ended his friend's rebuttal and elicited an encouraging squeeze for his arm. A moment later, the Colonel looked up with a start. Holding up two fingers, he then aimed them reproachfully at Daniel, his face a mass of accusation.

Though caught off guard by this hostile turn of events, it took the archaeologist but a moment to grasp O'Neill's meaning. Even without words, he knew exactly where this line of 'conversation' was going. A flush of heat pulsed through his cheeks as a result and he ducked his head. Feigning ignorance he then met the Colonel's steely gaze. "What?" he asked, innocence oozing out of every pore. A not so light slap to the shoulder answered this question and again the two fingers were raised. Relishing in the beauty of having Jack act so much like himself, Daniel again refused to admit comprehension. Stifling his ever broadening grin, therefore he swatted at the accusing digits and said the first thing that popped into his head.

"I know your name has two 'L's Jack, you don't have to tell me."

This comment resulted in the archaeologist melting into a soft bout of giggles whilst being assaulted by repeated cuff-blows from the Colonel. As if struck by a notion, Jack then held up three fingers and leveled them at his still laughing counterpart.

"Okay, okay," Daniel capitulated at length, wearying of the many knocks he had received. "So I have died a couple of times . . ."

The Colonel again held up three fingers, added a fourth with a firm gesture and waved them vigorously.

"Right, four times, but I was only really gone once," he countered defensively. "And I did come back. I mean, it's not like it was permanent or anything."

Rolling his eyes, Jack sent a hand to ruffle the incorrigible archaeologist's hair. A ghost of a smile then lit his face and he shook his head. "Spacius capucinius."

The foreign words were filled with affection and their utterance brought a warm glow to Daniel's face. It had been a long time since he'd first heard that phrase. It had been said in English then of course, but right now he liked it even better in Ancient. True, Jack was being possessed by the knowledge of the Gate Builders, but deep inside he was still Jack.

For Daniel, hearing his friend call him 'space monkey' had never sounded so wonderful.

* * *

Please read and review. This is my first foray into Stargate SG-1 fanfic so I am eager to hear what you think!

BTW the 'Ancient' words used here are my own mutilation of actual Latin. Per Dr. Jackson Ancient is a derivative of the dead language so - there you go :)


End file.
